


Vår Lengsel – Our Longing

by for_the_love_of_wolves



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Earth vs. Space, F/M, Guilt, Hopeful Ending, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Norway (Country), Post Season Six, Reunions, Season Seven Spec Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-17 23:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21551428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_the_love_of_wolves/pseuds/for_the_love_of_wolves
Summary: To save the world one more time, Jemma and Fitz have to separate yet again. Fitz moves to a small village in Norway: Geiranger. No one of the team can know he's there. It's lonely and some days are better than others. (Written for team earth's Globetrotting project)
Relationships: Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34





	Vår Lengsel – Our Longing

__

_„I don’t want you to leave, Jemma.”_

_“I know. And I would do anything to not have to leave. But there’s no other way.”_

_“Why does it always have to be us? Why do we always have to say goodbye …”_

_“This is the last time, Fitz. I promise.”_

_“Jemma … You can’t promise anything. It’s not possible. We don’t know what’s going to happen. We don’t even know if we’re going to be successful. We don’t know if we’re not going to lose each other …”_

_“Fitz … Please … I know we can’t be sure of anything. But … this is our last night. Time is running. We had a lot of it. More than I expected and hoped for. More than I could stand mourning the others not knowing if we will manage to bring them back. But now … Now we only have a few hours left. Just hold me, will you? Just …”_

_“Of course, Jemma. Of course. Come here.”_  
  


* * *

  
Fitz starts running at dawn, as usual. Thick ribbons of fog are floating between trees and the grass is wet with dew. It’s silent around him. The world is still waking up. Somewhere, a crow calls out. The sound fades away, unanswered. Fitz focuses on his breath, heavy and loud in his ears, and on the comforting steady rhythm of running. Pebbles are scrunching under his shoes and from time to time he has to evade a puddle; leftovers from the night’s rain showers.

Fitz runs until he reaches the top of a hill and stops, to catch his breath and stretch. The sight stretching out before him is spectacular. Once more since he’s here, he marvels at the overall stunning beauty of this country. Green meadows, covered in wildflowers, surrounded by high fir trees. Mountains in the distance, their tops hidden in the clouds. They are covered in snow. A river clears its way through the valleys in smooth curves, the water crystal blue and sparkling.

This wilderness is filled with life, Fitz knows. On his runs and slower walks, he’s discovered large groups of red deer, as well as some foxes, shy roe deer as well as beautiful snowy owls. He’s even seen a moose once. It had majestic antlers and was big enough for Fitz to feel intimidated. However, the moose only glanced at him fleetingly, before continuing to graze in the bushes lazily, obviously neither concerned nor bothered by Fitz’s presence.

He likes it here. The silence, peacefulness and solitude is a stark and relieving contrast to the demanding, stressful life as a Shield Agent, always on the move, constantly surrounded by danger and death and disaster.

This is what he needed; he knows now. Even if it meant to be lonely. To be separated from Jemma yet again. There was no other way. They couldn’t stay together. It would have been too dangerous, with what the Chromicons have in hand. But even more important: No one’s going to be in danger because of him. He did enough damage to the team. His other death self only added to the pile of mess he’s responsible for. It’s better this way. With Jemma being the one leading the team through this.

He’s glad now, that he ended up in Norway. There were a few other options, but they weren’t ideal. It had to be somewhere unexpected and remote. Somewhere, no one would recognize him. Scotland was out of question, of course. His mother … He couldn’t live with the thought of putting her into danger. No. He didn’t even want to be in a country close to Scotland. He picked Norway and he’s pretty sure no one is expecting him in Geiranger, a tiny town in the west, with not more than 200 inhabitants.

However, a lot of tourists visit the region. But of course, Fitz mostly avoids people. The less know him and could lead someone on his trace, the better. The only person he’s seeing regularly is the man who brings him things like food and beverages, wood for heating or whatever else Fitz puts on the list he writes for every month. And he doesn’t talk much. Fitz doesn’t even know his name. He only knows that he worked with Hunter in the past. And that is enough information to trust him.

Fitz has a story prepared for anyone who might talk to him. He is Brian, an unsuccessful daydreaming author who wanted to escape the stressful big city life in the United States and find peace and silence in the wilderness to finally finish his crime novel. He would adjust his accent to make it more believable. He doesn’t want anyone to know he’s Scottish.

Fitz sighs and takes a sip from his water bottle. His heart is pounding but he doesn’t feel too exhausted yet. He’s running almost every day now and improved the length of his runs with every week. Now, he’s almost running a half marathon. He’s fitter than he used to be. Sometimes he feels like he’s trying to run away from something. From certain thoughts or memories. He’s not sure if he's outpacing them.

After refilling his water bottle at a little stream – the water is so clear, he can see every pebble and every little fish swimming by in detail – he continues running, back to his home.

When he arrives at his little cabin, someone is waiting for him, sitting in one of the chairs on the porch and reading a newspaper.

It’s Bobbi.

She perks up, when he approaches and smiles. “Hey Fitz.”

Fitz feels a warm rush of happy surprise. It’s nice to see someone familiar. To hear a familiar voice. “Bobbi. It’s great to see you.”

She gets up and hugs him although he’s drenched in sweat and laughs, stroking along his shoulders. “Wow. You’re fit.”

Fitz shrugs. “I go running almost every day. There’s little else to do, most of the time at least. Managed 18 kilometres today.” He can’t help feeling a bit smug about it.

Bobbi whistles. “We should go together sometime,” she suggests with a little smirk.

Fitz laughs. He can imagine how that would go … He’s not _that_ fit. “Give me another six months of practise. Then we can try. Maybe.”

They enter the cabin and Fitz goes to shower, telling Bobbi to make herself at home. When he returns, she made two mugs of tea and sits at the table in the living room, studying the sketchbook he left there with obvious interest. Fitz startles and feels his ears starting to burn. He resists the urge to rip the sketchbook out of Bobbi’s hands. She looks up at him with a bright smile. “Fitz, these are stunning! I didn’t know you could draw like this.”

“Uh. It’s nothing special,” he murmurs, scratching the back of his head and glancing at the sketch of a red deer Bobbi is currently looking at. He just felt like capturing some of the things he sees every day. The landscape. The animals. He wanted to show Jemma. But every time he picks up a pencil, he hears his father’s voice … _What are you doing? Are you a girl? Drawing is not for boys. Go out and kick a ball or something._ And he broke the pencil in front of Fitz’s eyes. Even when Alistair was gone, Fitz had difficulties to enjoy drawing. It was always connected to an involuntarily rush of shame. And he was never able to think about what he did as “stunning”.

Bobbi studies him closely and Fitz feels like she’s reading him like a book. She’s a spy after all. Used to getting secrets out of people. However, he’s relieved when she doesn’t address the sketches further but instead closes the sketchbook and clears her throat. “So … You know what the others are up to right now?”

The others. Fitz feels an unwelcomed and probably stupid rush of angry pain at that question. He knows nothing. Absolutely nothing. “No,” he murmurs, reaching for his mug and accidentally spilling some of the hot liquid on his hand. It burns a bit. “I can’t know. I’m just there when they need me and ask me to get them somewhere.” Fitz tries to sound indifferent, but the frustrating pain of not-knowing is already nagging at him. The worst is, Jemma hasn’t called for an entire week. He doesn’t know where she is. Doesn’t know if she’s safe. And he’s tired of all the not-knowing.

But just as Jemma said … There’s no other way.

Since no Chromicon hunter has appeared at his door so far, Fitz hopes they still don’t know he’s the one at the base sending the team where it needs to be. The last thing he wants to happen, is them getting to him. He has a lot of useful knowledge. Memories. Two lives worth of memories of everyone at Shield … And one of them involves a lot of information about Inhumans. About how they tick and how they … look outside _and_ inside.

Fitz quickly shoves these thoughts away. They raise exactly these shadows he’s apparently trying to run from.

Bobbi nods slowly, still looking at him with an unsettling intensity. “I brought you the books you were asking for,” she tells him, reaching into her bag and putting a heap of books on the table.

“Thank you,” Fitz murmurs, feeling nervous again. A lot of them are just science books. He’s reading them in a day, so he sometimes needs replenishment. But some of the books are different. They are about mental illness. Fitz has been hesitant to put them on the list, but he thought they would be delivered by Hunter’s man, who doesn’t know him and what he’s been through. He didn’t expect the list would be read by Bobbi.

Bobbi clears her throat again. “Fitz … I wanted to come here personally, because I wanted to make sure you’re alright. I'm sure it gets lonely out here. You know, I could stay here for a few days. Or Hunter. We wouldn’t mind. Or I could try to find you someone to talk to. A therapist …”

“I’m fine,” Fitz says curtly, his fingers tightening around the warm mug. “Thank you.”

Bobbi looks a bit taken aback and he feels sorry for a moment, but after all, it’s true. He’s perfectly fine. He’s eating, sleeping, working out. Sure, there are some not-so-good days from time to time. But he’s handling them. He’s handling himself.

“I just want you to know, that we’re there. You don’t have to do everything alone,” Bobbi says softly after a moment, sipping her tea and looking at him over the mug. “You just have to call. You still have the emergency code, right?”

“Yeah. And … thank you,” Fitz quickly adds. “I really appreciate your offer. But … I’m okay. Really. The books are, uh ... I just felt the urge to … to understand things, you know?” He shrugs, not exactly knowing the right words. He’s never been good at words that didn’t fit together to make a perfectly logical science explanation. 

But Bobbi nods. “I know,” she says softly. “I’ve been there, Fitz. I’ve been there.”

She stays a little while longer.

Fitz feels bad again for it, but he can’t help the hint of relieve, when he watches her leaving, entering a cloaked Quinjet.

* * *

_Their last night together passes too fast. They get little to no sleep, because they don’t want to waste time._

_Time is their enemy again. It runs through their fingers like sand._

_Bathed in dim silver moonlight falling through the windows of the Zephyr, they touch each other feverishly. Fingers, reaching out to smooth over skin, as if they are trying to memorize every bump, every new scar._

_Voices, whispering gentle promises into each other’s ears, groaning each other’s names like a mantra._

_“Jemma …”_

_“Fitz. Oh Fitz.”_

_They cling to each other as if to an anchor._

_There are tears._

_He holds her close as she’s trembling and the urge to just take her and run away is overwhelming, producing an equally overwhelming amount of guilt. Because … they are the only ones left, the only chance for their team, their family. But still … A voice inside him whispers that they did enough. They gave everything. And they lost so much of themselves. What if … What if they lose what’s left too?_

_“We have to,” she whispers, as if she heard his thoughts. “We have to save them, Fitz. Save everyone. They would destroy anything. You heard Enoch …”_

_“I know,” he murmurs, leaning his forehead against hers. “I know …”_

_There’s no other way._

* * *

One day, someone knocks at his door. Fitz opens with a feeling of calm finality. He’s sure this is it. A bunch of Chromicon hunters, coming to take him, throw him into a cell maybe similar to the one he has been in after the team disappeared, torture him to get everything that’s inside his head … But when he opens, he looks into the smiling face of an elderly woman, carrying a basket.

“God dag,” she says. “Vil du ha noen skillingsbolle?“ She raises her basket from which a delicious sweet smell radiates.

Fitz hesitates. But his stomach takes the decision before his mind can. He hasn’t had anything sweet for so long. He thinks for a moment, trying to find the right Norwegian words. It didn’t take him long to learn the basics of the language. And he’s sure Jemma is going to be annoyed that he knows a language she doesn’t. If she could, she would learn every language on the planet and beyond … “Hvor mye?” He asks.

She tells him the prize and it’s incredibly cheap for something smelling so good, so he gives her a lot more, shaking his head when she wants to give him money back. She beams at him, mumbling a few praises in Norwegian he barely understands, and handing him too many of her cinnamon rolls.

“Tusen takk,” he tells her and smiles, watching her leave. He wonders how long she’s walking to get from one cabin to another. He hopes his money could spare her some work.

The Norwegian cinnamon rolls are incredibly delicious and after eating them, he feels like having a sugar rush. He wishes he could share them with Jemma … He wishes he could share everything here with her. He misses her so much. It hurts to think about her.

She still didn’t call. And Fitz tries to suppress his worry. She’s fine, for sure …

When he finally sees her again, he’s going to say, “Jeg elsker deg.”

_I love you._  
  


* * *

_“I love you.”_

_“I love you too, Jemma.”_

_“Are you sure, you have everything you need?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“Enough socks and … and warm clothes. I don’t know where you are going, but … Maybe it will get cold at night.”_

_“I’ll be ok, Jems. Don’t worry.”_

_“I’m trying … Oh Fitz. Why do we do this to ourselves?”_

_“Because we’re the only ones who can stop them, Jemma. Remember that.”_

_“Yes."_  
  


* * *

  
Fitz wakes up with a gasp, sitting straight in bed and staring into the void. His heart is pounding and his breath is hectic. He wipes his face and his hand comes away wet with cold sweat.

God …

A nightmare. About the Framework. He hasn’t had one that realistic for quite a while now. He can still hear the screams … The screams of the Inhumans suffering under his hands. His bloodstained hands holding a sharp scalpel that reflected his indifferent face.

Fitz instinctively looks at his hands. But they are clean. Of course, they are. 

His head starts to ache. Fitz grimaces and closes his eyes. He instinctively reaches to his side, searching for Jemma’s hand. For a little bit of comfort … But he’s groping around in the void and quickly remembers. She isn’t there. No one is. _You’re all alone. Like you deserve. Because you’re a monster. You know, that right? You liked it. You liked taking them apart, seeing what makes them different. You liked doing all the research. You liked it. We liked it._

Fitz shivers and exhales a sob, pressing both hands against his temples.

This is bad. This is really, really bad. And it came out of nowhere. Shame, guilt and horror start to fill every cell of his mind. Why … How could he? He remembers everyone looking at him with a hint of mistrust and worry after they got out of there, and it hurts so much …

Fitz gets up because he has to get _away_ and he walks to the bathroom on unsteady feet, sluggishly washing his face with freezing water.

When he raises his head, his own tired redrimmed eyes stare back at him. He involuntarily shivers, almost expecting to see the Doctor standing behind him, like he did every time when he woke up in prison, smirking at Fitz, until Hunter got him out and the Doctor disappeared back into a farer corner of his mind.

Thankfully, there are no hallucinations. But the images of the nightmare are still lingering. His father, smiling at him pleased and proud. Ophelia, telling him “I love you”, while cupping his face and kissing his lips. “I love you, Leopold …”

God. He’s going to be sick …

Driven by the urge to move away from the source of his panic, Fitz walks out the cabin and onto the porch, looking up at the night sky. It’s clear and starry. Where are you, Jemma, Fitz thinks. Where are you …

 _She’s not going to come back to you, even if she could_ , a quiet malicious voice inside his head whispers. _She knows what kind of man you are. They all know. They are better off without you._

Fitz groans and closes his eyes. He almost considers using the emergency code, to get someone here. Bobbi. Or Hunter. Someone who could talk to him and distract him from the enemies inside his own head. But he doesn’t want to be a bother to anyone. And this is going to pass. It’s just a bad night. It’s going to be over tomorrow. When he’s running again, running away from it all.

Fitz takes a last deep breath of the fresh earthy air and goes back inside, back to bed, telling himself it’s been just a nightmare. It’s been a nightmare about a world that wasn’t real, about a life that was forced on him … It doesn’t help much. Because whatever he does, he can hear the voices in the background telling him different things. Somewhere between them, he can hear the echo of the voice of his father. _Don’t be such a baby, Leopold. And don’t you start crying, tears are for the weak!_

Despite the mess in his head, Fitz falls back asleep sometime out of sheer exhaustion. 

* * *

  
_“Please be careful.”_

_“Of course. But I’ll not be alone, Fitz. You know that.”_

_“I’ll be.”_

_“Yes. Are you scared?”_

_“No. Not for me.”_

_“We could still switch places, you could stay here on the Zephyr and …”_

_“No. We can only do it this way. You know that. You have to lead them through this. I can’t. Not after everything that … No.”_

_“Fitz …”_

_“Maybe, it will help us too. I know you’re still mourning him; I can see it in your eyes, Jemma. And I’m … I don’t know what to think about everything you told me. I have to … It’s ok. It really is.”_

_“Fitz … When this is over, we will go away, you hear me? We will go somewhere nice and safe and we … We are going to work things out and start a new life. Alright?”_

_“Alright. Whatever you want to do, Jemma. I’m with you.”_  
  


* * *

_In every recovery,_ Fitz reads, _there are setbacks. There will be bad days where you think nothing makes sense anymore and nothing you do matters. That’s normal. And you will get through it. It is important to remember, that your trauma won’t go away. It will always be there. But what matters, is how you’re dealing with it. The goal is, to look into the future and let the past in the past …_

The future …

Fitz sighs and closes the book, putting it away. It’s a mild late summer evening and he’s sitting on the porch in only a shirt.

He lowers his head and rubs his temples.

This book is giving him a headache. It’s too vague. It doesn’t give him clear advise about what to do against the voices or nightmares or flashbacks. It just talks and talks and talks.

Fitz doesn’t think he’s going to read it further.

His thoughts wander off while he’s massaging his temples. They wander to Jemma’s last call … One week ago.

When he heard her voice coming through the comms, he has been so relieved, he almost started crying.

“Fitz? Fitz, do you copy?”

She sounded a bit worried. So Fitz hurried to answer, his voice hoarse and unsure. “Hey. Hey, Jemma.”

“Fitz," she breathed, sounding relieved. "How are you?”

“Fine. You?” There was so much he wanted to tell her … He wanted to tell her how much he missed her. How much he wanted to see her and hold her. How he didn’t think he could do this much longer. But suddenly, he couldn’t find any words. His mind was blank. It was just so wonderful to hear Jemma’s voice …

“Good. Tired, but good. Fitz … We’re almost done, I think,” she told him, her voice trembling with excitement and maybe tears.

Fitz closed his eyes. Almost done … He wanted to believe it. But he was careful to hope too much. He had his hopes destroyed too many times. “Okay. Where do you need to go?” He asked, preparing everything with trembling hands.

Jemma gave him the information.

“I love you,” she said softly, moments before he sent them away.

“I love you too,” he said, feeling his throat tightening.

Then she was gone again. He leaned back in his chair and exhaled a heavy sigh, closing his eyes.

She was safe. She was fine.

The call gave him a boost of positive energy that lasted for days.

But it also concerned him … What if she was right and they were almost finished? What if everything went to hell exactly at the end? What if there won’t be another call. Never again? They never had a lot of luck. Disaster always got to them.

Fitz didn’t – doesn’t – know, what he would do in this case.

The last days, he thought about getting a pet. Maybe a dog. Some company would do him good, he guesses.

He shivers slightly, when a low breeze blows, making the leaves in the trees rustle. Some of them float to the ground gently. Summer is ending. Autumn is close. The colours around him are already changing from green to yellow, orange and red. The days are getting shorter too.

Fitz decides to go inside. He doesn’t want to catch a cold. When he gets up, he suddenly hears the little fence gate creaking. He frowns and turns around. He freezes, when he sees who is standing in his garden. He blinks and resists the urge to wipe his eyes. Because it can’t be. Because oh God, his hallucinations are back.

He doesn’t know what to do.

And then the hallucination smiles and talks, a tear running slowly over her cheek. “Hello, Fitz.”

Fitz feels his legs getting weak and he supports himself on the table, taking a trembling breath.

“Jemma?” He whispers.

She sobs.

And then they’re both running. They meet each other halfway, colliding like two stars, wrapping their arms around each other.

“Fitz,” Jemma whispers, pressing her face into the crook of his neck. “Fitz. Fitz. Fitz …”

“Jemma,” he murmurs back, burying his nose in her hair, inhaling her scent. Not a hallucination … “Jemma …”

They stand there forever, while the leaves are raining down around them.

When Jemma stops saying his name like a desperate prayer, Fitz tells her, “Jeg elsker deg. Jeg elsker deg, Jemma.”

And she laughs. "Jeg elsker deg også," she tells him softly, cupping his face.

Fitz isn't even surprised. He presses her even closer and allows to feel hopeful regarding the uncertain concept of a future.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to @AgentOfShips for helping out with the language and facts about Norway :) 
> 
> Another chapter could or could not happen. Not sure yet. 
> 
> Translation  
> "God dag" - Good day  
> “Vil du ha noen skillingsbolle?“ - Do you want some cinammon rolls?  
> “Hvor mye?” - How much?  
> "Tusen takk" - Thank you very much.  
> "Jeg elsker deg" - I love you  
> "Jeg elsker deg også" - I love you too


End file.
